


Half past the Point of No Return

by anr



Category: NCIS
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-18
Updated: 2009-01-18
Packaged: 2017-11-04 14:26:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/394859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anr/pseuds/anr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He doesn't get a lot of the things women do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Half past the Point of No Return

**Author's Note:**

> _Dagger_ (6x09)
> 
> Request: a bar/club, a she's-mine kiss, dancing.

He finds her in the morgue, palms flat on the table and her spine perfectly straight, like any moment now she's going to push herself up and onto the table.

"What's going on, Abs?"

"Do you ever wonder what it's like for them?"

"Them?"

"The people we bring here." Her voice sounds hollow, echoing off tiles and stainless steel. "The ones we couldn't save."

 _Every damn day_. "We do what we can."

She nods. "Yeah." Twisting, she looks over her shoulder and finds him in the shadows near the door. "But what if it's not enough?"

He has no answer to that.

  


* * *

  


There's a bar.

There's a bar, and music, and alcohol enough to numb all but the sharpest of pains.

"Dance with me, Gibbs."

He shakes his head. "No."

"Please?" Her voice is bright and cheery, saturated with dry vermouth and whiskey sour. He doesn't believe in it for a minute. "Just once?"

He drains his glass and sets it down on the bar hard enough to make the remaining ice cubes clink against the sides. "I don't dance."

"Bullshit," she says. "You're Gibbs. You can do anything."

"You're right," he says, pulling out his wallet and leaving a handful of notes for the bartender. "I can take you home."

She smirks. "I don't think I'm drunk enough for that."

"Let's find out." Sliding off his stool, he stands beside hers. "Time to go, Abs."

Her salute is sloppy. "Aye, aye, Gunny."

  


* * *

  


She curls up in his passenger seat, forehead pressed against the glass and eyes closed as he navigates his way to her place.

"Lee could have been my friend, Gibbs."

It's not the first time either of them have said her name since the funeral but he runs an amber light anyway, unwilling to stop. "I know."

  


* * *

  


She gets to work before him, an empty Caf-Pow! already discarded in her bin when he walks into her lab.

"You get any sleep?"

She smiles. "Early bird catches the worm, Gibbs," she says, grabbing his hand and tugging him towards her station. "Wanna see a juicy one?"

"Average person needs eight hours of sleep a night, Abs."

Raising an eyebrow, she stares at him. "Did you just call me _average_?" Her tone is more amused than pissed off.

He points at the evidence photo on her screen of a bloody towel. "This from the Michaels case?"

"Ten points, oh fearless leader of mine." Allowing him the reprieve, she turns away, her fingers flying across the keyboard. "Wanna try for a strike?"

He smiles. "Show me."

  


* * *

  


They solve the Michaels case, the Henderson case, and the Bayat case in quick succession, the days bleeding into each other as each file opens and closes.

He's grateful for the uniformity.

  


* * *

  


"Here's what I don't get," she says, hopping up onto the stool next to him and signalling the bartender for a drink. "Why would anyone _want_ to do that to a frog?"

He doesn't get a lot of the things women do, that least of all. He watches the bartender pour her drink and nods for it to go on his tab as she picks up her glass.

"To Freddy the Froggy," she toasts.

He sighs and raises his own glass, humouring her. "At least this time you didn't name it Jethro."

  


* * *

  


She stays for two drinks before sliding off her stool and grabbing her bag. "I've gotta go," she says, running her fingers through her pigtails. "There's a rumour going around that Android Lust is going to make a special appearance at the O tonight."

"O?" He doesn't want to think about what that could stand for.

She nods, smiling mischievously. "You wanna come? There'll be dancing..."

 _God, no_. He's seen warzones more forgiving than the type of clubs she favours. "Have fun, Abs."

She laughs. "Night, Gibbs."

  


* * *

  


He allows Tony stare at the ceiling for an hour before calling him on it. "Something on your mind, DiNozzo?"

"No, Boss. I mean, yes, Boss. I mean --" Tony regroups quickly, sitting up in his chair. "Petty Officer Andrews was a gold-digger."

"A woman who associates with, or marries, a man chiefly for material gain?" Ziva's dubiousness mirrors his own.

"Ah, so many great movies built on that very fine foundation," Tony says, "but no -- I mean she literally _dug_ for _gold_."

He takes a look at the prospecting records Tony brings up on the screen, before nodding. "Bring her in."

  


* * *

  


He knows Abby's watching him even before he finishes the interrogation. Leaving Andrews to think about her choices, he heads next door.

"You got something for me, Abs?"

She nods but doesn't look away from the window. "Why do you think she did it?"

"You'd have to ask Ducky that." When he places his hand on her shoulder, she finally looks back at him. "Abby?"

She turns, handing him a sheaf of photos. "The stains match." She glances back at Andrews. "I don't get it, Gibbs. She had options. She could have asked for help."

She's not talking about Andrews anymore. "I know, Abby." With gentle pressure, he guides her towards the exit. "Go pack up and head home. Get some sleep."

  


* * *

  


Andrews confesses.

It doesn't make it any easier to charge her.

  


* * *

  


When he walks into the bar, she's already there, sipping a martini.

"What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing." She orders for him, watching as he sits down beside her. "Three nights in as many weeks, Gibbs -- did you and your boat have a fight?"

"Abby."

" _Gibbs_." She shakes her head. "I like it here. It's quiet, and the music's not so bad -- you know, for classic rock. Not that there's anything _wrong_ with classic rock -- I mean, it's classic for a very good reason -- if it wasn't, it wouldn't _be_ classic, so." She takes a breath and stirs her drink. "You're here."

"You see me every day at work."

Her smile is indulgent, like she knows something he doesn't. He almost asks what. "Duh."

  


* * *

  


"Where's your car?"

"At home." She skips a couple of steps ahead of him and spreads her arms out, tilting her head back and breathing in deep. "Don't you just love nights like this?"

He shrugs. "Hadn't really thought about it." Digging out his keys, he walks towards her. "Come on, I'll give you a ride home."

Turning, she waits until he's almost at her before walking backwards, matching his steps in reverse. "Why won't you dance with me, Gibbs?"

He stops walking, unsurprised when she does as well. "Why does what happened to Lee bother you so much?"

She tilts her head to the side, a streetlight illuminating the cobweb on her neck and making the strands look like silver. "I'm a sister," she says, like that explains everything. "If I didn't have you in my life, who's to say I wouldn't one day do the same as her if something like that happened to my family?"

"Abs --"

She shakes her head. "I know, I know. It's stupid, right? But --"

He takes a step forward, forcing her back one. Repeats the process again until there's a parked car behind her.

"Uh, Gibbs? I don't think this is --"

He takes a step back, and waits.

Confused, she steps forward, away from the car. "You feeling okay? Not too much to drink, right? Do I need to offer to drive?"

He steps to the left, and waits again, and as he waits, a delighted smile slowly starts to appear on her face. She steps to her right, mirroring him, laughing out loud when he takes a step back and she follows.

Only a dozen paces to his car; her smile almost makes him wish it were longer.

  


* * *

  


He drives her home and walks her to her door, kissing her on the threshold with one hand on her cobweb and his other on her hip, holding her to him. She tastes like the gin she was drinking, sharp and fresh and achingly alive.

She smiles against his mouth. "Thank you for my dance, Gibbs," she says, pulling away and taking his hand in hers.

He follows her inside.

  


* * *

The End

**Author's Note:**

> ORIGINAL URL: <http://anr.livejournal.com/327043.html>


End file.
